Adios, Mother Fucker
by Skabooom
Summary: When Stiles turns 18, his friends drag him and his new fake ID out to the Jungle. Stiles plans for a night of drinking and fun, but what he doesn't plan on is the drop dead gorgeous bartender who knows how to work a crowd, and make a drink like no one Stiles has ever seen before.


**_A/N This fic is heavily influenced by this tumblr post: post/78717496965/ryankelleyonline-i-heard-something-about_**

When Kyle Parrish was honorably discharged from the army, a piece of shrapnel the size of a dime lodged permanently in his knee, he had no idea what he was going to do. He had planned on being in the army, working with bombs and mines, and helping people until it literally killed him, but with the ever so slight limp in his left leg, that's just not an option anymore.

Beacon kills didn't seem like a first choice of places to go, but he was passing through on his way to Sacremento, and he stopped for a drink at their local hot spot for homosexuals, The Jungle.

It took about all of 15 seconds for him to start talking to the manager, and after a couple more drinks, and maybe just one or six shots of tequila, he had agreed to pick up a shift the next night, just one, as a shot boy for a party. They're paying a lot, and he'd used to tend bar in college, so he knows what he's doing.

He's not at all surprised that, in his drunken state, he agreed to do something like that. What does surprise him is how much he likes it, and what was going to be a one night gig turns into a real job, and not only that, a job that he likes.

Kyle is hot, and he's buff from the military, and he's not shy about what he's working with. Sure, he wears long pants to hide the ugly scars on his left leg, but his torso? He got out perfectly clean there, so he has no qualms about taking off his shirt. In fact, two months into working there, and he can't remember the last time he wore his shirt at work.

The tips are better without it.

Way better.

He's hot, and he knows it. Kyle plays to his strengths. He flirts with everyone, he smiles at everyone, he even lets some customers lean over the counter and tuck their spare bills into his methodically placed Calvin Klein waist band…and sometimes, just sometimes, if he's interested enough, and the prospect is hot enough, he even lets someone take him home.

For his 18th birthday, Scott gets Stiles a fake ID, and they all pile into Danny's car and head to the Jungle. The last time Scott and Stiles went, they didn't have fakes, at least not good ones, and now that they do, well, tonight is all about getting Stiles drunk, and maybe even laid…though more likely than not, he'll just end up sitting in the VIP section with drag queens fawning all over him.

If that's the worst thing that could happen, though, they're in for a pretty good night.

"Jesus, I've never seen the line at the bar like this!" Danny calls as they enter. "I mean, I haven't been on a Saturday in awhile, but damn!"

"I think I see your problem," Lydia says with a coy smile, slinging an arm around Danny. "That bartender is hot."

"Oh shit…" Danny's eyes widen, because yeah. Wow.

The guy tending bar is not only making drinks like he was fucking born to do it, but he looks fucking amazing. His jeans are riding just low enough that you can see the designer label on what Danny's pretty sure are boxer brief, and his body is perfect – slender, toned, and he's wearing just the right amount of body paint applied in just the right way to be sexy, and not ridiculous.

"Okay, well screw you all, I'm going to get a drink." Stiles pushes his way to the front of the bar, flagging down Hottie McBartender. "Hey, can I get a beer?"

"Can I see your ID?"

"What? But I'm already in the club!" Stiles wrinkles his nose, wondering if that's even allowed – to card someone once they're already in.

"You don't look 21," he says, jabbing the sign above the bar that says to ID anyone who looks under 36. "And you definitely look under 36."

"Fine." Stiles pulls out his fake, pretty confident in it.

"This is fake," the bartender states, though he hands it back to him seconds later.

"What? I…no it's not! I'm 21! I swear!"

"If you're 21, I'm Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Okay. It's really, really hot that he just made a Star Wars reference…even if it was used in denying Stiles what he wants.

"Stranger things have happened," Stiles says with a shrug, trying to play it cool.

"Yeah, well, not tonight." Obi-Wan shakes his head.

"Come on, I'm 21. I swear!"

"Uh huh." Obi-Wan leans over the counter, so close that Stiles can hear his breathing, feel it, really, and god damn, if this guy doesn't smell nice. In a club of sweaty guys, he smells like a god damned rose.

Well, he smells like ocean mist, but potato, tomato.

"I got into the club, didn't I? I had to show my ID to do that," Stiles argues.

"Yeah, well, the door man clearly doesn't care about keeping his job as much as I do."

"I'm 21!" Stiles argues again.

"How old are you really?" He asks, and the way that he raises his eyebrow, well, it's sexy, and it's confrontational, and Stiles is oddly attracted to both of those things.

Caught off his game, not that he really had much to begin with, and feeling oddly cornered, Stiles caves.

"Fine, I'm 18," he says, though he keeps it quiet.

"Too young," Kyle says, shaking his head. "Well, too young for alcohol, at least."

"Oh yeah? Well what else is on the menu?" Stiles asks, miffed that he can't even get a drink on his god damned birthday.

"In about two and a half hours, I am."

The line is delivered subtly, and perfectly, and Stiles' jaw drops practically to the floor. He knows what those words mean, but he's not sure if this guy is messing with him or not. After all, he's admitted to being legal, even if it is just barely. Maybe that's enough for the hot bartender…but he could have the pick of any guy in this place.

He wouldn't pick Stiles.

"Right, haha, very funny," Stiles manages, once he's recovered a little. "I get it, you're not gonna serve me, even if it is my birthday, and even if your buddy over there is serving all of my friends already." He gestures down to a less crowded portion of the bar where another bartender is eagerly serving Scott, Allison, Lydia, Jackson, Isaac, and Danny.

"God damnit." Kyle sighs, shaking his head. "He always does this! Doesn't even think about the consequences, I-"

"I don't think your job is on the line," he states. "It's the doorman's fault for letting us in, once people are in, it's not actually your job to ID, and trust me. I know the Sheriff."

"Oh, do you?" Kyle raises his eyebrow yet again.

"Yep. Come on…did I mention it's my birthday?"

"You're on persistent kid, you know that?" he asks, snorting with laughter.

"Oh, hell yeah I know that." Stiles nods. "So are you gonna serve me, or are you gonna deal with me pestering you all night?"

"One drink," Kyle warns, shaking his head. "But it's not going to be a fucking beer."

"What?" Stiles frowns.

"Well I'm only giving you one drink, so…" he gets to work, starting to make something. When he hands it over to Stiles, it's blue, and looks sort of gross.

"What the hell is this?" Stiles asks, reaching for his wallet.

"On the house," Kyle winks.

"Okay, well thank you, but what is this?" Stiles asks again.

"AMF." Kyle shrugs.

"Okay, are you intentionally trying to be cryptic?" Stiles narrows his eyes at the man, figuring that they've been in this stalemate long enough – doesn't this guy have other people to help? Not that Stiles minds being able to stare openly at his perfectly sculpted – and painted – body.

"Adios, mother fucker. You only need one. Trust me."

"Thanks."

Okay, Stiles has to give him that one – it was nice of him to make the drink at all, let alone on the house, and one strong enough to do the job of a couple of drinks all in one. Besides, if he needs another one, he figures he can just palm cash to someone like Isaac, who looks about 25, and get another one. He turns to go back to his friends, but Obi-Wan stops him.

"You didn't tell me your name."

"You say my ID," Stiles smirks.

"Yeah, but you don't really look like a Lars Holgate to me."

"Fair." Stiles smiles. "You tell me your name, I'll tell you mine."

"Kyle," Obi-Wan says.

"Stiles."

"Seriously? That's not a name."

"Trust me. That's what people call me." And with that, Stiles is off to join his friends. Sure, he'd like to stay and flirt, but maybe in another world where that guy wasn't messing with him. A world where he'd actually have a shot with someone like that, and in this world? Well, girls only kiss him when he's panicking, and guys laugh when he asks if they find him attractive.

"That took a really long time," Scott points out when Stiles joins them with his drink…which tastes like death, but it's strong, and isn't that what really matters?

"Yeah, well, we were talking." He shrugs – might as well talk a big game, right? What does he have to lose? These are his friends.

"Oh yeah?" Allison smirks. "What about?"

"You know, Star Wars." He shrugs.

"Really?" Lydia raises an eyebrow, surprised. "Would not have pegged him for a nerd." She nods approvingly and turns back to her drink. This night isn't about her, it's about Stiles, and he can have whatever he wants, as far as she's concerned – he's been nothing but a good friend, and she still has years of making up to do on that one.

They dance, and drink, and the other bartender has no problem serving Stiles whatsoever, and just to add insult to injury, Stiles winks, raising his glass to Kyle every time he gets a new one.

It's not until about 1 AM that the group realizes just how fucking drunk Stiles is. There's karaoke in the far corner, and Stiles manages to slip out of the grasp of the group and sign himself up. Before any of them can stop him, he's on the stage, holding the mic, singing out a soulcrushingly awful rendition of "I Touch Myself" by the Divinyls.

Everyone is laughing, Stiles included, and there's something so alluring about the musical tragedy occurring on the small stage that Kyle can't take his eyes off of. He's pitchy in all of the wrong places, but he's owning the stage like he was meant to be there, bad singing be damned, and there's definitely something to be said for that.

Kyle also likes that the kid didn't fawn all over him. He's used to being told that he's gorgeous, and having guys tip way too much, and while that's always welcome, it's sort of fun to have someone to have a real interaction with, and not someone who just thinks he's eye candy.

"Like what you see?"

"Huh?" Kyle is pulled from his trance by Lydia, who's sidled up to the bar.

"I asked if you like what you see – Stiles." She gestures to her friend.

"Oh, I mean, he's definitely putting on a show." Kyle laughs. "He's funny."

"He is." Lydia nods. "He's also single."

"Oh." Kyle can't hide that he turns slightly red when she says that, but like always, he plays it cool. "Well after this, I can't imagine why," he says sarcastically.

"Cut the crap, lover boy," Lydia states, and Kyle is taken aback. He likes people who tell it like it is, and around here, no one tells him the truth. They tell him what he wants to hear, because he's a pretty face with a rockin' body, but Lydia? She's been with Jackson long enough to be entirely immune to that.

"Whoa there, what?" Kyle looks confused.

"I saw you, when he was trying to get a drink. You were flirting."

"Yeah, well, I flirt with everybody." Kyle shrugs.

"No, no." Lydia shakes her head. "Don't lie to me, I'm far better at this than you, trust me."

"Okay, well he wasn't receptive anyways, so it doesn't matter."

"It's _Stiles,_" she says, like that's going to mean something to this guy.

"So I've heard," Kyle replies. "And?"

"And through all his bravado, he has the self esteem of maybe a peanut. He spent a lot of time being the weird kid, and he hasn't yet realized that these days, people are sort into the weird kid. Odds are – and by odds, I mean what happened is, he either thought that you were flirting for tips, or messing with him."

"Oh shit, really?" Kyle raises an eyebrow. "Because I actually definitely offered to go home with him…and I wasn't kidding."

"Well I don't think he knows that," Lydia states.

"_I don't want aaaaanybody else, when I think about you I touch myseeeelf!" _Stiles shrieks, grinning as he does so. Maybe he's off key, but at this point, about half the bar is singing along with him, and it doesn't matter that he sucks, because he's a hit.

"He's too drunk now," Kyle points out. "It'd be taking advantage of him."

Lydia looks at him, a genuine smile on her lips.

"I knew I liked you," she states. "So here's what we're going to do. My friends and I, we're going to leave."

"What?" Kyle frowns, confused as hell right now.

"And when Stiles realizes he's here alone, and asks for a cab, you're going to set him up in the back with a pitcher of water, and when your shift is over, you're going to drive him home, where, don't worry, Scott will be loyally waiting to collect him." She grabs a napkin and writes down the address.

"Okay…" Kyle bites his lip, still very much perplexed.

"Mmhmm. And the next morning, maybe around 11…oh hell, it's Stiles. Better make it noon, call this number." She writes down Stiles' cell phone number underneath the address. "When he answers and asks who it is, tell him, and ask him out to lunch, but do NOT, by any means, make fun of his drunkenness, alright?"

"Ma'am, yes ma'am." Kyle salutes, and Lydia's impressed.

"Military, or just too much porn?" she asks.

"A gentleman never tells," he says with a wink.

"Alrighty then. Oh, and if you fuck with Stiles, I think it goes without saying that I'll rip your balls off and mail them to your former sergeant."

"Got it." Kyle's eyes widen because, well, that's a pretty specific and terrifying threat.

It only takes about 15 minutes after that interaction for Stiles to sidle up to the bar.

"Have you seen my friends?" he asks.

"Oh, the ginger girl and the rest?" Kyle tilts his head to the side.

"Mhmm." Stiles nods, sleepily. "Wanna go home now."

"I saw them leave about 10 minutes ago."

"Are you fucking serious!?" That alone seems to sober Stiles up a bit, and Kyle can't help but laugh a little.

"I'm sorry." Kyle smiles kindly at him, pouring him a glass of water. "I'm off soon. I'll take you home."

"What?" He looks up at him. "I don't know where you live…I mean…you don't know where I live, and aw fuck it." He takes out his phone and passes it to Kyle. "Text Scott. He'll give you my address."

"Okay." Kyle takes the phone, and messes with it, but instead of texting Scott, he puts in his number…as Obi-Wan Kenobi. After all, he doesn't need the address.

He takes Stiles home, and he's a perfect gentleman, and as promised, Scott is waiting on the steps to collect his drunk friend. Kyle drives off, thinking that, if nothing else, it was an interesting night, and also that Stiles has great friends.

The next day, Stiles wakes up around 11:30 hung over to hell and back. He groans, and looks over at the bedside table, where he sees glass of water, two aspirin, a bagel, and a cup of coffee and a note from Scott.

**Happy Birthday, sleepy head. Deaton needed me at work, but here's the best hangover alleviation I could find in your house. Text me later, hope you're not in too much pain! –Scott.**

"Good fucking friend," Stiles mumbles as he downs the aspirin and the water before sitting up in bed, slowly nursing the lukewarm coffee and bagel.

When his phone rings about half an hour later, Stiles starts, and bellows loudly about the pain. He knows his dad is at work, so it doesn't really matter, but he didn't expect the blaring ring, and it's hurting his hungover ears.

God, he's never drinking again.

When he lifts the phone, it reads Obi-Wan Kenobi, and for a moment, he wonders if he's drunkenly gone through and changed all of his contacts to Star Wars characters.

Again.

"Who is this?" he asks as he answers.

"Hi, Stiles?" Kyle bites his lip. "It's Kyle…we met last night. I drove you home?"

"Oh shit…" Stiles gulps, because, well, he remembers about half of last night, but this guy is definitely a part of that half. "You were the ho- the bartender."

"Yeah." Kyle smiles. "I wanted to make sure you got home okay."

"I did, thanks. I feel like shit, but jesus, thanks for getting me back. My friends are idiots."

"Your friends adore you," Kyle retorts.

"They left me at a bar on my birthday," Stiles points out.

"They had their reasons."

"Yeah, right. I'm sure." Stiles rolls his eyes, not sure what's going on.

"Trust me, they did." He pauses, and Stiles doesn't know what to do in the interim time, so he stays quiet. "Let me take you to lunch and explain."

"What?" Stiles vaguely remembers an offer for casual sex, but he was sure it was a joke.

"You know, hangover food? Free lunch? Something someone buys for someone else when they're interested in a quirky personality with a cute face?"

"I…" Stiles gulps, not at all sure what to say, and the answer just tumbles out. "Yeah, okay."

"Great. I'll be there in 20 minutes."

"Oh god!" Stiles hangs up, and tears around, showering, trying to dress in a way that doesn't make him look like a hungover idiot, but at the end of the day, 20 minutes is not a lot of time, so he's going to have to make the best of what he is.

Kyle is punctual to a fault, and when he rings the doorbell, Stiles curses loudly, bounding down the stairs with one shoe on, the other in his hand.

"Hi." Kyle smiles as he opened the door.

"Hi." Stiles drops the shoe, because, well, his brain wasn't making up how gorgeous this guy was, and as sexy as he was shirtless and painted up, he looks just as good in the casual jeans and Ramones t-shirt currently hanging perfectly off his body.

"You okay?" Kyle asks.

"Yeah, it's just…holy shit, you're hot, and I'm-"

"Self conscious?" Kyle asks, raising his eyebrow.

"Well I was gonna say awkward and lanky, but yeah, I guess that too." He shrugs.

"I think you're sexy." Kyle winks at him, and Stiles swears he's going to drop dead right there.

"Did Lydia put you up to this?" Stiles asks.

"No. Well, I mean, she gave me your number, but only because I wanted it."

"Really?" Stiles reaches up, scratching the back of his neck.

"Really." Kyle nods. "Stiles, our 2 minute intereaction wherein I wouldn't give you a drink, if you remember it, was, for some reason, the most fun I've had at my job so far, and as you can imagine, it's a pretty fun job."

"Really?" Stiles asks again, because he just can't think of any reason why, well, any of this would be the case.

"God, just shut up." Kyle rolls his eyes, but he's smiling.

"Make me, Obi-Wan."

Kyle doesn't hesitate, he just leans forwards, capturing Stiles' lips in a kiss.

Stiles is surprised to the point of freezing, and it takes almost two whole seconds for him to realize that, yes, hottie bartender who likes Star Wars is actually kissing him…and that's when he kisses back.

Kyle's lips are soft, and taste sweet, and Stiles tastes like coffee. The kiss isn't too long, and not too intense, but it's nice, and when it's over, Kyle's arm is gently wrapped around Stiles' waist, holding him slightly in place.

"W-wow…" Stiles gulps.

"So," Kyle bites his lip, smiling. "Lunch?"

THE END

**_A/N: I know that was crap, but it was just for fun, based off the pics, and yeah. Thanks for getting all the way to the end, lol! And I'm sorry for the typos. I didn't edit because I'm tired and lazy. 3_**


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